Orphans of War
by Ryuu Indigo
Summary: Retired turian Spectre Valrus Akaron was just doing a bit of volunteer work, helping c-sec in the rapidly overfilling refugee camp, when he happened to see a young human girl fresh off the transports being harassed by a known con. Clara Reed is like so many others, separated from her family, alone and frightened, but for some reason Valrus can't leave her alone.
1. Chapter 1

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 1_**

It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon.

The latest band of refugees had just arrived in the emergency housing floor, most of them were human. Another colony world evacuated as the Reapers closed in. Young, old, men, women, they filed in, walking up to the desks to register their arrival, as well as try and receive aid.

Among them, lost in the hustle and bustle, standing there with nothing but a weathered looking old pack clutched tightly against her chest, was a young girl. She had dull honey-gold hair, milk pale skin, dotted with light freckles, and warm brown eyes that looked around, lost and frantic, unsure about what to do.

Valrus saw her. He saw her coming in with the new wave of humans. He'd come to help out the C-Sec forces, even though it was a bit trivial compared to his normal duties. They needed the extra man power, and boots on the floor helped anywhere there was a need.

He had been looking over his data fed, keeping up with the rest of the incoming data about the war. Palaven, Earth, countless colony planets. Video streams, news reports, despite the constant feeds coming in from every which corner, it was almost impossible to list an accurate casualty toll, what's worse is that one hour a large city or colony will be checking in, sending in their information, requesting aid, and the next, they would be completely silent. No checking in, no feeds, no noise. Silence.

Still, Valrus saw this one refugee, just standing there. She looked small and helpless, like she was trying desperately to shrink down to a miniscule size. For a moment, he swore she might be close to tears. He tried to ignore her, scanning through the data feeds, figuring she would eventually move on, find her family or whatever.

However, as he started reading about a recent raid by Cerberus on Benning, a conversation caught his attention.

"Hey there, sweetie," a male voice spoke up, "You lost?"

"U-Umm…no, I'm waiting for someone," answered a quieter voice.

"Who? Your folks?"

"Well, I—"

"Come on, I'll help you look for 'em. They're around here somewhere, right?"

Valrus looked up at this point, and saw a human male reaching to slip his arm casually around the girl's back. He was considerably older than her, maybe late 30s, and the girl looked at him with a mix of uncertainty and a bit of distaste.

"I really should just wait here for—"

"Aw, come on now," the man leered at her, his other hand reaching to grab one of her wrists that clutched at her bag, "In times like this, humanity's got to stick together, right? Just take this as some good will between our species, huh?"

"Really, I—"

"Hey," Valrus closed his data feed and approached the pair, the male immediately turning his once softer expression towards him with a more menacing stare. Valrus was unfazed by the balding man's glare, which faded quickly as he approached. "I thought I told you to get lost, Wilkson."

Jerry Wilkson swallowed a lump in his throat, a beat of sweat growing on his brow. He released the girl, but didn't retreat, composing himself instantly to stare down Valrus. "I have every right to be here, bird face! I'm providing support for my people in their time of need! Right, sweet thing?" he flashed a toothy smile at the young girl, who simply looked between the two.

Her gaze hung on Valrus, almost pleading. Valrus watched her for a moment, understanding the look, and then crossed his arms. "I've given you plenty of warnings, Wilkson, and you've gotten even more from the regular c-sec officers. By law, I could have you sent to a holding cell, maybe even arrested, for still trying to keep this scam of yours running."

Wilkson gritted his teeth together, "Listen here, you over grown featherless chicken!" he sneered, "You don't have any rights to do anything to me. No one's got any proof I'm doing anything illegal!"

"I don't need proof," Valrus stared down at him, his gold amber eyes intense, almost inflamed, "All I need is an excuse, and my dwindling patients is enough for me. Either get the hell out of my face and stay that way, or I'll have you locked away for the rest of her miserable life in a hole so deep even your cockroach ass couldn't crawl out."

Wilkson's face burned bright red, something that slightly amused Valrus. The range of color human skin could reach just by emotion was almost entertaining. "I'm gonna report you to human resources! This is racism!"

Valrus threw back his head and laughed, loud and rolling, sinister almost, "Go ahead, give my best to Councilor Udina even. If your little complaint even gets farther than the front desk," he leaned forward, unintimidated by him, "Seeing as human resources won't do a damn thing about a rat-assed bastard like you trying to report a Veteran Council Spectre for giving you a hard time."

Wilkson's color changed again, this time the flushed red melted away, and his skin turned stark white. He swallowed, repeatedly, and after looking between the girl and Valrus, as if weighing his odds, he turned and hurried away. Not quite running, but not walking, but clearly a hasty retreat.

Valrus scoffed, putting his hands on his waist as he watched the swindler go. Part of him wished he didn't just make a threat, but went through with the arrest. He'd simply move on to the next defenseless refugees and give the same pitch before robbing them blind.

"U-Um, excuse me?"

A shy voice reminded Valrus he wasn't alone, and he glanced back at the young human. She smiled up at him, strands of her hair hanging in her face. "Thank you for helping me, sir. I really appreciate it."

Valrus turned to her, "Where's your family, kid?" he asked bluntly.

She looked surprised for a minute, as if she didn't expect him to ask such a question. He waited for her answer, clearly not giving her the option to make excuses.

She turned her attention to the gates where most of the refugees had been coming after the drop offs, and looked a little saddened. "…they said they were going to take the shuttle after me…" she muttered quietly. "The lady at the front desk said that it would be arriving in the next few hours…"

Valrus was quiet for a moment, contemplating. When had he first noticed her arrival? Two, three hours ago?

"How long ago was that?" he questioned.

"…" she tightened her grip on her bag, "Three hours and thirty six minutes ago."

Valrus remembered his data feed. He had been monitoring incoming shuttle reports. In the past three hours, only two shuttles had arrived. One was from a batarian colony, the other from Earth.

"Where are they coming from?" he asked.

"Promise," she answered, adjusting some of her hair that was falling into her eyes. She looked around again, as if hoping speaking the name might've alerted someone who might know where her family was.

Valrus remembered Promise. It was a small moon that orbited a large, ringed planet called Kamaji, along with two other moons, Muse and Historia. Promise was a fairly new colony, only having been established twenty or so years ago by humans in the Lorelei Cluster in outer Citadel space. All he could remember was that it was mostly farming and mining, and it had a relatively low population.

As he looked at her, he could easily imagine her having been born on that moon, never having left it before in her life, and now thrust into a world she had no idea about, alone and afraid. Thinking like that made it even easier for him to see how she was targeted by Wilkson, and how she would defiantly be targeted again.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked yet another question of her.

She looked at him, clearly unsure about whether or not she should answer that question. She didn't seem too young, but naivety was defiantly a constantly state of mind. She had been sheltered, probably grew up knowing every face and name of the people around her. She never had to do with anything outside of Promise, and grew up under the safe guard of her parents.

Kids like her often ended up tricked into bad situations.

He showed her his data pad, "I'm gonna run your name threw recent arrivals. If your parents are here, then it'll show me where I can find them."

She seemed to light up, and gave no more protests, "My name is Clara Reed, my parents are Donald and Paula Reed. I have a little brother too, Gavin."

Valrus put her name into the data base. She had registered her arrival around the time she had told him, and as it searched through the recent arrivals, he noticed her trying to push herself up on her toes to peer over it, a hopeful yet apprehensive look on her face. He shook his head at her behavior, and around the same time, the data pad alerted him to "No Matches Found".

He closed it out and looked at her. The disappointment in her expression told him she saw too. She looked down at her feet while Valrus reached up to rub at his neck. There was no way to tell when the next shuttle would arrive, and whether or not it would even come from Promise. Communications were bad and getting worse, to the point that incoming shuttles, sometimes even cruisers, would have to take a chance at approaching the docking hangers without contact, praying not to be shot down.

Clara took in a breath, and smiled at him, "Thank you again, sir. I appreciate you trying to help."

"Anytime," Valrus answered. With a wave, Clara walked away. Valrus turned to do the same, but glanced back.

Clara didn't go far, simply over to a bench nearby. She took a seat with her back to him, placing her bag beside her, and continued to glance around, still hoping to spot her family.

Valrus watched her, then turned.

There were countless people in her same situation. All of them needed help.

It wasn't his job to deal with her. He was only a temporary solution to the lack of man-power on this floor anyway.

With luck, she'd be reunited with her family before the night was out anyway.

Yes. There were a lot of people in Clara's situation. A lot of them who needed help. What made Clara's case so different, so special?

This was what Valrus kept thinking well into the night…

* * *

_**A/N:** This story was inspired by a background conversation in ME3 where a c-sec officer talks with a young teenage girl refugee. I'm sure there are similar stories out there, but it was a touching idea that I wanted to play with. _


	2. Chapter 2

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 2_**

Clara hadn't slept.

She had tried to sleep, using her bag as a pillow, stretched out across the bench chairs, but the last scene of her home kept replaying in her head.

It had been early in the morning. Not yet dawn, even. The colony's alarms where blaring, and her dad came rushing through the door to her bedroom, telling her to get up, dressed, and grab everything she'd need. They were evacuating.

It had been all over the extranet, the attack on Earth. How colonies were going dark, and many people were backing out, returning to more stabilized planets, like Illium, or the Citadel. But everyone on Promise figured they were to out of the way, too small to bother with. Almost everyone had stayed. They felt safe here.

It was all so sudden, the way that illusion crashed down. Suddenly, it was happening. What, she didn't know, but they were evacuating, now. She remembered throwing on the same clothes she had worn the day before, and tossing everything important within arm's reach into her old bag. She heard her mother in the room next to her's directing Gavin that his toys weren't important, they would get new ones later, and to just take what was absolutely necessary.

No one was near prepared when her father came rushing back in, shouting that they had to go now, and they all rushed out.

The colony was in a panic. It was hardly recognizable. It was normally so peaceful, so happy. Everyone was glad to be there, they loved it. But now, they were screaming at each other, pushing and shoving, trying to get to the shuttles first. Crowds of people all clamoring to get to the few shuttles they had that would take them to the transport ships that would go straight to the citadel.

Clara's dad had been determined to get his family on that shuttle.

He shoved, shouted, even punched a man who had been their neighbor for years when he tried to yank her mom out of his way, and made it to the shuttle. First he had got his wife and son on, then Clara. Just before he could get on, however, Gavin jumped out. He had forgotten his stuffed varren toy, and rushed back to get.

Her dad ran after him, followed by her mother, who gave her instructions to stay on the shuttle. The shuttle announced departure, and Clara shouted out. Her mother answered they would be on the next one before she ran after her husband and son.

Now, sitting alone, surrounded by other refugees, Clara secretly wished she had gone with them. She couldn't figure out why she hadn't jumped off the shuttle why she alone remained glued to the spot. No one was holding her there, no one was blocking the way out.

Clara looked down at one of the few things she had left of home.

A sketch book.

Filled with different, detailed pencil drawings, landscapes of Promise, some of the livestock raised in the colony, portraits of her friends. She had been drawing for the past few hours now. But with little inspiration, she simply drew what had been in front of her.

A bench, identical to the one she was in, only behind it was a window that looked out on the arms of the Citadel. Cars whizzed by, never slowing down to consider what was on the other side of the windows they passed. She had drawn this for hours, to the point where it almost looked like an unfished grey, black, and white photograph.

She could've drawn the couple to her left, an asari and her mate, a human, leaning on each other for support while they tried to sleep. The asari was pregnant, and her mate seemed to keep herself awake, checking on her, making sure the blanket wasn't sliding off.

Or there was the pair sitting towards the end of her bench. A batarian and a human, both of them talking about the Reapers. They had spent the night together, the human even going off and spending some of the money he had brought with him to buy something for them to eat and some drink. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to take the edge off what had happened, and what was to come.

But instead, she drew that empty bench. Because it was in front of her, and she didn't have the energy to look any other way.

She lowered her pencil, and turned the last of the blank pages to the very back. There, between the back cover and the thick stack of paper, was a rare site. A photograph. Not a halo, or some sort of digital version. A printed photograph, taken of her family in front of a decorated tree native to Promise.

Her parents told her that Christmas normally had them decorating pine trees, but those didn't grow on Promise, and having a fake tree was a bit sad. So they went out and picked a tree in the yard, and decorated it then and there. Her mom then found a relic of a camera from Earth, set it up on a tripod, and they snapped a picture of everyone under their tree.

She smiled. Tears stung in her eyes.

"Where are you…?" she whispered to the picture of the people with their smiling faces.

A shadow suddenly engulfed her. She slowly turned, and blinked away the blur in her eyes.

Standing over her was a familiar face.

The turian from yesterday. The one who helped her. He had a dark coloring, with his white tattoos made of sharp lines that bordered his eyes and mandibles. It made him look rather distinguished, she thought. She could see the faint traces of scars, but they looked faded. Old wounds, obviously, years old.

"You're still here," he said it as a statement, not a question.

She nodded, solemnly.

"No word, then?"

Her eyes slowly cast down, and she shook her head.

Silence fell for a moment. The turian walked away. She watched him as he headed towards c-sec's temporary office, a small little corner sectioned off with a few officers busily trying to sort through the refugees' complaints and requests.

Her chest felt tight. Seeing him again reminded her that it had been almost a full day since she saw, her family. 24 hours. She didn't want to even think the worst, but in the back of her mind, it was there.

She flipped the sketchbook pages back to the drawing of the bench under the window, and started to shade in a few more corners. There wasn't really a need, but it kept her mind occupied, blank, if only for a little while.

Clara knew her body needed rest. She could feel her heart rate. Slow one minute, rapid the next. All the stress and adrenaline was really over doing what little strength she had. She felt sick, and her head was pounding. But she didn't want to sleep, in case she missed their arrival.

"Hey," a hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped, the pencil drawing a line across the paper as she let out a startled sound, quickly silenced when she flung her hands over her mouth and spun around. The turian was there again, looking a little startled himself, "…you alright, kid?"

She let out a breath, her hand falling over her chest, and nodded. She felt a little dizzy now, but otherwise she was okay.

He seemed to size her up, studying her. For a moment, his attention fell on the sketch book in her lap. He glanced at the bench across the way, and then back at her, "Any more issues?" he asked.

She opened her mouth and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Not really."

"Not really?" he echoed.

"A guy tried to take my credit chit," she admitted. For a moment, the officer seemed a little upset, but she quickly added, "I stopped him though. It's okay."

The turian didn't seem convinced. He looked around, "It could be a while until your family shows up, kid."

"What?" she dropped the pencil, the sketch book falling from her lap as she turned around in her seat, "Why? Did you hear something?!"

"I just looked into the last reports coming in from the Lorelei Cluster," he indicated back to the c-sec office he had just visited, "From what we understand there's been some trouble in those routes. No reports of any civilian shuttles getting in the cross hairs, but that may mean they're all grounded until they can guarantee the routes are safe."

She sank back down, "Oh…"

There was a long silence between them, filled only by the sounds of the camp. Muffled voices and cars outside the windows passing the ward by.

"You should look into finding a place to stay," he instructed, "And something to eat."

"Okay…" she said quietly.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked further.

"No, not yet. I'll go find something in a minute."

"….ever been to the Commons?" he asked.

"Huh?" she looked at him, surprised.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 3_**

Valrus sat across from Clara at a table in the Commons. She'd picked a small café, not well known, and ordered a pretty cheap human meal, nothing more than a sandwich with a small salad and an iced tea.

He'd ordered only a drink for himself, the turian equivalent of coffee, and watched her eat with vigor. She was obviously hungrier than she had let on when he brought her here. He'd told her to just eat where she wanted too, and when she seemed a little apprehensive, he added that it was on him.

That just had the opposite effect of what he wanted, and she seemed even more nervous. Maybe that's why she'd picked the cheapest meal she could find. Or it could be that she was just a simple colony girl who didn't need something gourmet to make her happy.

As he took a sip of his hot drink, Clara finished off the rest of her sandwich and took a gulp herself. As she picked up a fork to start on her salad, she noticed Valrus watching her. She suddenly slowed, realizing, he supposed, that she wasn't using very good manners in front of a stranger who'd bought her a meal, and looked at her salad with a slightly embarrassed expression.

He couldn't help but grin at her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, hiding his amusement.

"Uh…no," she admitted, "Thanks for the food." She smiled shyly.

He nodded, and took a gulp from his cup.

"…um…" she fidgeted a little, "I don't mean to be rude or anything…but do you really have time to just…sit with me?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well…you're a Spectre, right?" she said, "Yesterday, you told that weirdo that you were one, anyway."

"What makes you think I wasn't making it all up just to scare the shit out of him?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Because I'm pretty sure no one would lie about being one and live through it," she said.

He threw his head back and laughed. "What do you think we are, a mafia gang?"

She smiled, a little coy looking, "So you are a Spectre then?"

He paused, looking at her. A slow grin crossed his face when he realized what she had done, "Sly, kid. Good job."

She smiled back, nearly beaming, close to what he had seen yesterday. He put down his cup, crossing his arms on the table, "Alright, I'll confess. I am a Spectre. Or rather, I was."

"Was?"

"Retired. Or at least trying to be."

"I didn't know Spectres retired…"

"If you live long enough. It's not easy an easy life, y'know."

"I guess that's true. You're like the secret police. My brother use to read comic books about Spectre heroes all the time. There was even a showing of _Blasto_ in the colony last year."

He scoffed at the name of the recent movie, but let it slide. "That's all the glorified made for vids crap. The real job isn't so cut and dry," he leaned back in his seat, "Trust me kid, reality is never as pretty as the comic books and movies make it seem. It's brutal."

She was quiet for a minute, soaking it in, he figured. It might've been harsh to say, considering what she was going through. Thinking about it now, Valrus figured it might've been better if he had just kept his mouth shut.

"…if you're retired," she asked, "Why were you down in the camp yesterday? You were wearing a c-sec uniform and everything…"

"In times like these," he began, "I figure I can do more good in the field than sitting around on my ass," he shrugged, picking up his drink, "Besides, I'm horrible at golf."

Clara giggled. It was a soft kind of sound, the first time he'd seen her laugh. He paused for a moment to consider her face. Humans had such strange features. Most aliens did, of course, so different from turian. But he'd seen enough humans, worked alongside them, fought them, to know the signs of exhaustion. Wear and tear showed more on them than turians, and it was especially true of the young. Her skin wasn't the same peach color it was yesterday. It was pale, almost ghostly. Her eyes had dark rims, greying, the whites bloodshot. Even her mouth seemed dry and pale.

She hadn't slept and had probably worked her nerves up worrying all night. Thinking of her family, worried about them, and scared for herself. She was holding up, but at the same time, she was falling apart.

As Clara took a bite of her salad, he again asked her, "Do you have any kind of plan for what you're going to do until your parents arrive?"

She slowly chewed at her bite, as if thinking about it. She swallowed, "…I know I have an Aunt and Uncle on Earth," she said, "But I haven't seen them since I was little. I'm not even sure how to call them…"

Hearing they were on Earth didn't exactly give Valrus hope. "Do you know where they are?" he asked.

"I think they were in Ohio?" she frowned, "Or, they might've moved to Florida. Aunt Julie always said that she wanted to movie there. I think I remember Dad saying Uncle Ben was looking into a new house somewhere in Florida…"

"Do you know their full names?"

"Julie Anna and Benjamin Mitchell. Uncle Ben is my mom's brother."

Valrus lifted his arm, bringing up his omni-tool. He made a slight inquiry to anyone by those names, but no immediate results came up. The most likely explanation was that there wasn't anything to report about them, which mean that they weren't in the local system, nor where they on any casualty list. It could be good or bad, but with things the way they were, there wasn't any way to really tell.

He closed the program, downing the last of his drink, and Clara looked back down at her salad, now only poking it with her fork. Like before at the camp, a silence fell between them. There was simply nothing to say. She probably realized the same thing he did. Even if he had been able to find information on her Aunt and Uncle, there wasn't much that could be done about.

Evacs from Earth were becoming less and less, and it wasn't like he was going to send her to Earth either. The unspoken truth was that Earth was probably the last place in the universe that anyone should be. If her family was still there…

Valrus let out a heavy sigh mixed with a groan. The only option left was for her to stay at the camp. For a kid on her own, it wasn't exactly the best solution. He could always hand her over to c-sec. They could set her up with some kind of foster family until her parents showed up. Of course, it wasn't like she was an infant or a particularly young child. If he was to guess, she would be at least sixteen. And people on the citadel had enough trouble, it wasn't like there was a slew of people lining up to take in every orphan of war right now.

_Orphan of war…_

Valrus snuck a look at her again. She had put down her fork, and was no looking at her surroundings, taking in the view of the Presidium. Even worn out as she was, she seemed captivated by it all. Her eyes sparkled with awe as she took in sight. Here, it was hard to imagine such things as war. Hard to think of the horrors happening across the galaxy. This place seemed untouchable, like an invisible wall was keeping it separated from the carnage.

Valrus knew better. He'd seen it. It was only a matter of time until something shattered this illusion of safety.

"Oh!" Clara suddenly jumped up and hurried away. Valrus jerked to attention, battle instinct alerting at first. But as he watched her, he realized what she was doing, and relaxed.

She rushed down a flight of stairs, heading straight for a glass railing that looked out over the reservoir. Valrus stood up, picking up her forgotten bag, and following her.

She was leaning out over the rail, reaching her arm out, "Come on," she said gently, "Come here, little guy. I won't hurt you."

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning. At first, he thought she was trying to pick one of the bright red flowers. These entire wing had been decorated with Earth agriculture. Trees and plants he wasn't use to, that gave off different perfumes. They'd even released a few native birds, something called a pigeon seemed to particularly thrive here.

Clara ignored him, reaching her hand into the leaves of a tree that had been planted below them. When she pulled her hand back out, on the tips of her fingers was a small, blue and black butterfly.

Valrus frowned, "Insects aren't normally brought to the Presidium."

"Butterflies are good for gardens and flowers," she told him, "They help flowers grow by carrying pollen from flower to flower. Also, they're pretty. Adds to the appeal."

The butterfly spread it wings, open and closed, as if displaying itself. It had a swallow like tail, long and winding. After a few more breaths on Clara's hand, it flew off, disappearing to the lower levels.

"Back on Promise, there were butterflies," she explained, "They were brought along with bees and lady bugs. They helped to make healthy crops. Butterflies and bees pollenate, and bees also made honey. And the lady bugs would eat the native pests that would attack the crops, like these little aphid like creatures we called corn-flies."

She chuckled, "Me and my friends would go out and find beehives sometimes. The wild ones that got away. They made their own hives, and we'd smoke them to get the honey. One time we got chased into the lake. My friend Nick got stung so bad his face was swollen for three days!"

Valrus didn't say anything, simply watched her. She didn't say anything more, her expression a mixture of amusement, and loneliness. As she stared out over the Presidium, he saw her eyes begin to water, but the smile didn't fade from her expression.

He began to consider something stupid.

Something someone like him shouldn't ever consider.

It was so hair brained that it if it was someone else, he'd probably tell them what a horrible, stupid, hair-brained idea it was.

But the more he tried to convince himself how _stupid_ it was, the more he knew it was the only option he had.

"Come with me," he told her, putting a hand on her shoulder, and nearly dragging her towards the transit station. He walked at brisk pace, making Clara nearly jog to keep up.

If he walked slowly, he would've probably had time to back out of it. So he kept her walking quickly.


End file.
